


Small Important Details

by beekeepercain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brother Feels, Brotherly Love, Brothers, Cancer, Gen, Hospitalization, Mentions of Cancer, Sick Character, Sick Dean Winchester, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 07:36:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5735215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beekeepercain/pseuds/beekeepercain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You remember how I always thought I would go, Sammy?" Dean spoke after a while, and his eyes turned back towards Sam. There was a small smile on him, stretching the dull grey lips.<br/>"At the edge of a blade... or in a blaze. Look at me now."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Small Important Details

* * *

 

Dean's lips were pale and blue-tinted, matching the white of his face in a way that seemed to follow naturally. It wasn't the contrast between white and stark red that Sam was used to, but the palette made his stubble look almost bright orange in comparison, and the younger brother noted the colour as he brought his finger down along the older's cheek. Dean smiled, eyes still clear and present even though the rest of his body had already given in.

His breath wheezed a little as he dragged air in, but it didn't seem to phase him, and he lifted his hand weakly to chase after Sam's. Sam allowed him to catch up, and Dean brought their hands onto his body; the room's chlorine smell was pushed aside for a moment by the spring breeze rushing through the open window, and Dean looked at it thoughtfully for a moment. While he watched, Sam's eyes were caught up on him instead, taking in whatever he still could, as if afraid to lose a single moment.

"You remember how I always thought I would go, Sammy?" Dean spoke after a while, and his eyes turned back towards Sam. There was a small smile on him, stretching the dull grey lips.  
"At the edge of a blade... or in a blaze. Look at me now."

He laughed, but the act seemed to wear him out and he closed his eyes for a moment afterwards. Sam held his hand tighter, smiling too even though it hurt his chest to do so. He'd been aching for a week straight now, ever since it sank in that these would be the last days he'd spend with his brother for a very long while.

"I'm a no-case cadaver," Dean continued, struggling to open his eyes again.  
"Trapped in a hospital bed hooked up to an IV. Counting beeps to the inevitable. It's hilarious."

Sam's smile wavered. He brought his free hand through Dean's hair and Dean closed his eyes to the touch again; the weight on the bed shifted as Sam leaned forwards, and it was him who made the only depression in it, as if Dean weighted nothing at all.  
"How are you feeling?" Sam asked him, trying to keep his voice steady and warm instead of broken and terrified as he really felt.

"I'm glad you didn't end that with 'today', because you're treading awful close to the nurse territory here, Sammy. You know how I'm feeling. I'm feeling like _crap_. So how about we talk about you this time, huh? How's life on the outside, little brother?"

Sam thought for a moment. Then he sighed, chuckled and stretched his neck from side to side, ending the stalling with a grimace.  
"You know, the same old. Trying to keep the class on track, planning, chatting in the teacher's room and drinking way too much coffee between lectures."

"And no one's questioning your credentials."

"You mean the completely legitimate credentials you bought online and I photoshopped into my name? Why would they?"

Dean grinned. His eyes escaped to the window again and the morning light reflected in his green irises, turning them to the bright gold of a summer meadow.  
"You're a good teacher," he said then, sounding happy.

"I guess I am."

Dean nodded.  
"It's good."

"Yeah."

Their eyes met again and for a while they looked at each other without speaking - the moment was cut by Dean's hacking cough that brought tears to his eyes and spread a spray of blood over the back of his hand and the corners of his mouth. Sam reached for the tissue and wiped his hand, then let him take control and wipe his lips clean.

"I'm so high on the stuff they give me I don't even feel that anymore. You'd think coughing up a lung would hurt, but it's nothing."  
Dean let out a disgruntled sound and tossed the paper off into the bin. It fell a little short but he seemed satisfied with the effort anyway.  
"You know, Sam..."

"Yeah?"

"I'm gonna get all cliché here, but bear with me, because... I'm not gonna stick around for long anymore. And I'm fine with that, I really am, because this is boring as hell to be stuck in this room watching daytime TV and flirting with nurses who are at least thirty years younger than me and look at me like I'm the moderately funny grandpa from the cancer ward that makes them sad when they laugh. Which is accurate, I guess, and I should just accept it, but I can't. That's not me, Sammy. That's never been me. Then again, I don't think anyone really takes up a title like that and feels like it suits them. The other moderately funny grandpa from the cancer ward talked about it the other week, and then he died. That's sad. This is sad. I'm sad, Sam. I don't _feel_ sad but I look at myself and the me that I see is pathetic."

Now Sam's smile wavered, but Dean looked at him warmly and confidently, accepting it as it was - it took Sam a while to believe it, but when the tear rolled down his cheek and nothing in Dean's expression changed, he finally did. Dean was alright with this. He was prepared for it. Sam wasn't, but he'd gotten better. He no longer chased after a cure, hadn't for a month at least. Giving up had... it had felt like the strangest thing and it had left him void, like he was walking on thin ice further out to sea just accepting that it would eventually break and swallow him whole and throw him down a course he hadn't and couldn't prepare for. The world seemed so much bigger without Dean standing there with him. More open, colder like standing downwind on the top of a mountain, surrounded by nothing, no fence to keep him safe, just the fall on all sides to the clear, vividly coloured reality that didn't belong to him. His life was with Dean, and without him, the rest would be a filler or a barely connected sequel, someone else's life. The Sam that he was today would die and be buried with Dean.

"Do you want to go out?" Sam heard himself ask, "It's warm out there already, better than last week."

"Nah."

"Nah?"

"Yeah. Nah. I think I'm done here, Sam. No more walks. No more trying to cling onto normal life, or any life at all. I'm dying and I'd like to concentrate on that, thanks."

The chuckle that Sam let out sounded more like a choked sob, and he turned away to wipe his eyes. The TV was on but the sound was off - it was showing commercials.

"It's alright, Sam," Dean said after a minute had passed in complete silence again.  
His hand slid over Sam's and held it, and it still retained some warmth even though his fingertips were cold and his skin felt dry on touch.

Sam twisted his hand around and held Dean's in turn, and he looked back at him and the mousy, grey-tinted hair that hadn't been styled in months and now hung a little bit longer than before over his forehead, just barely covering his ears.

"Do you want to hear you future? Dying people can divine, you know. It's another cliché, you always see it in the movies," Dean told him with a crooked grin on his face.

Now Sam laughed, and the sound was a little more honest than before.  
"Shoot," he said, "I'll let you know how you did when it's my turn."

"Alright."

Dean closed his eyes and held Sam's hand tighter - he started making a ridiculous sound, a low humming, and his face turned to a frown and his lips parted and the humming turned into a long stretched vocal A instead. Then, suddenly, he stopped and went rigid, mouth open to a gasp that never happened, and Sam was trapped half-way between laughing and pressing the emergency button to summon a nurse when Dean's eyes flared open and he turned dramatically towards his brother again.

"I've become the vessel and the messenger of the cancer gods," the older stated in a cracking voice, "They speak through me."

"Jesus, Dean."

"Your fate is clear. You'll live up to the good old age of - 70, 74... 76 - and there's a woman in your near future... a tall, gorgeous ex-blonde, now sadly kind of dated and more silver than platinum, but she's _hot_ for a lady your age, old man. Either a lawyer or a doctor... might be in this hospital."

"Are you seriously trying to hook me up with your doctor?" Sam asked with a raised brow, but Dean hushed him quiet.

"You'll get a dog. No, you'll have two - she has a fat yellow lab already, but you'll rescue another, it'll happen this year before Christmas. A mutt. The mutt will dig up that couch you love and that I _hate,_ but you'll forgive it because it's doing you a service and you go out with your lady to buy a nicer couch, alright? And no pups for you guys, you're a little late for that, but there'll be pups for the dogs. It'll last ten years or so, then she dies. I'm sorry, Sam, but you outlive her. It's okay, though, because you'll join a chess club in your old days and start going a little nuts before the end, and you'll have a weird funeral under the name Samuel J. Wesson that at least forty people come to, because you're super popular for an old guy."

A crooked smile lingered over Sam's lips and he shook his head.  
"And then?" he asked with a subtle, disbelieving laugh at the end.

"And then," Dean continued, and his eyes slipped closed again but the smile on him lingered, "I'll wait for you on the porch with two cold beers and a lot of stories to catch up on. Don't you spare one detail, alright? Promise me, Sam."

Sam swallowed and nodded.  
"I promise."

"Good."

A small bird landed on the window pane and started singing: it wasn't anything out of the ordinary, as next to the window grew an old oak that Dean had spotted a nest in a few weeks before. It kept singing as Dean lay in his bed quietly for such a long while that Sam assumed he'd fallen asleep already, but their hands were still joined and he didn't feel like leaving just yet, not before Dean stirred again and opened one eye to peer at him.

"You're kinda draining me out here, Sam. No offense."

"None taken. You want me to go?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded slowly and closed his eye, but his grip grew firmer for a moment. He let out a choked cough and Sam could see the pain spike up again in his expression, but it smoothed over quickly and he breathed in deep, as deep as his obstructed lungs gave room for.  
"Come back later. Bring me some pie."

"Sure thing."

"And a good book, alright? I'm too tired to read, but the damn TV's going to kill me before the cancer does, so if you could -"

"Of course I'll read it to you. No problem."

Dean's hand relaxed again and he smiled.  
"See you then, Sammy."

"Yeah. See you, Dean."

Sam slid down from the bed and stood up, picked up his bag and hung it over his shoulder. He glanced back at Dean one more time before turning away and walking to the door, but when his hand landed on the handle, Dean cleared up his throat to speak.

"I love you, little brother - you know that, right?" he said, and his voice was warm and deep and a little raw and nervous in the right way.

The words seeped into Sam's heart and he felt it freeze for a beat. Then it came back on with an explosion of warmth and he choked on his smile, turning back to find Dean with his eyes open, looking back at him with a smile of his own.

"I know. You tell me all the time in your own way. You always have. You don't have to say it, you know?" Sam said, trying not to sound like he was about to cry.

Dean shook his head.  
"No. I know. But I wanted to."

Sam nodded.  
"I love you, too," he said for the first time in half a century or more, and the ease with which the words came off his lips surprised him and made him feel stronger for a moment.  
"I'll be back in a bit to read for you."

"Don't forget the pie."

"Don't worry. I'll remember the pie."


End file.
